And so here I am, 31 years in the making,
What appears to be a life for the taking.
So well do I hide my soul that is aching,
These invisible scars, I wear them with pride,
Gather them along for the ride for this life,
It’s just a never-ending training session,
Crashing with others for some type of connection.

Yet everywhere I turn I see nothing but fake smiles.
Although it’s been a while I’ve witness something worthwhile.
Instead we’ve got fellow brothers and sisters, mothers and misters trying to Trump one another.
We educate, trying to get stronger,
While that human cancer simply gets stronger with that hateful armor.

Bring down a brother or sister of color, hail the shooter, bravo!
Yet, who remembers unsung heroes like Tale-Yax?
Shout out to you, Hugo Alfredo, no tengas miedo. I’ve got your back.

31 years of stare downs, simply because I’m brown.
Don’t you people see we’ve got the same blood running through our veins?
So why do you speak about us with disgust as if we’re some vicious stain?

How can we let the Bannons, Trumps, Pence and McConnells use the power of the pen
To silence us with violence, dump and throw our dignity right over the fence?

These chains echoing our pains, resonating through our bloody veins.
Like a titanic train, ready to reign over our names.

So to answer your question my dear mother,
I’ll tell you to forget it and not bother.
To be a father, I simply don’t want that honor.
Because the world we stand on, it’s filled with too much dishonor.

Read the sorrow-filled lines between my brown colored eyes.
I’ve witness too much to want to desire my very own baby cries.

Instead I’ll ride all through the night, like a knight, with my pen as my knife.

Few bands, or artist for that matter, have had the impact on me that the Beatles have. Most often, artist have perhaps a song or two that are capable of propelling the human mind on board a nostalgic journey back to the wonder days, where everything was enveloped in childhood wonder. In most of these moments, it’s their bitter sweet end that brings a sullen smile, or maybe even a long-feared tear. The way I see it, an artist’s magic pen, if you will, is, or should be, based on their ability to connect with people and their emotions.

And with the Beatles, it’s song after song, beat after beat, lyric after lyric that I find myself traveling back in time and once again see myself with my worn-out jeans, beat up sneakers and faded hoodie, walking down the fragmented sidewalk while John Lennon’s voice echoed into my eardrums. I can’t help but let out an actual smile as I remember that naive and stoical expression cemented on my young face. Every time I hear those drums begin to pick up rhythm as the words begin to vocalize, “You’re gonna carry that weight, carry that weight for a long time,” she comes to mind. Allison. The red-haired, green eyed beauty that shattered every inch of my being, but turned away, never looking back or ever returned to see the pieces fall and scatter all over the floor.

The first time I met her, we were but 2nd graders. Since I had moved into the state, it was obvious a new school was quickly written in my book. That first day, I was to sit across this little girl with auburn red hair, whose emerald stones stared at me like a child would when presented with a never before seen character from the muppet babies. I was the strange new kid. I was Beaker; shy and long-suffering. It was only a matter of time before all eyes turned to me. But with Allison, it was different. She smiled at me from across the table, and like the soft spoken kid that I’ve always been, I simply put my head down, and turned away. Seconds later, her soft, little hand passed a neatly folded sheet of paper across the table, and in her writing, she’d written the word “Hi.”

Through the years, she became my one and only true friend. And because of that alliance, she had soon realized my passion for music, and my inherent discomfort with this world, people, and my own life. I could never hide anything from her. One lucid stare, and she knew something had derailed my mind and once again put me on a track I always found difficult to return from. She became the only one who understood why my state of mind was severely injured after having seen my biological father pull the trigger on himself when I was but a five year old boy.

Perhaps it was that critical moment in my young life where things turned for the worse. I wasn’t old enough to reach the steering wheel, when I’d had my first luminous encounter with methamphetamines. It was because of those brief instances of being under the influence where I found myself rolling with a small group of acquaintances, causing mayhem, running away from the big boys in blues. At the time, I was the villainous Fonz of the group. I was respected. Not because I’d earn it, but rather I was feared. By everyone. Except Allison.

She was the only one who knew how to make me smile, even when I didn’t realize what she was doing. I vividly remember the day, when I was 16, when she found me lying on the roof top of my building at 2 in the morning, eyes closed, letting my fragile mind wonder around. We had just returned from the town fair a few hours prior. I still remember her delicate fingers crossed with mines as we sat up in The Viking Fury, a ship that swung us back and forth on a 270 degrees motion. Her joyous scream and blissful laughter resonated as the ship made it’s stomach turning trip, back and forth. I remember her red hair flying around her as we rode the electric cars at full speed, the fair’s lights making her look even more ethereal. And that moment when she turned around, her green eyes looking straight at me, smiling as she said, “Come on, you. What did the Beatles say? If there’s anything that you want, if there’s anything I could do. Just call on me, and I’ll send it along, with Love, from me to you.”

She knew how much I loved the Beatles. Perhaps that’s why started singing “From Me To You” as she pulled away in her blue electric car. There has never been a more heavenly rendition of that song on this earth, than there was that night.

Hours after the electric cars, the buttered popcorn, the elated laughs and enchanted smiles, there we were once again. Alone. Just the two of us.

“Hey, stranger, ” She said as she walked towards me, her hands inside her denim jacket. I quickly opened my eyes and saw her standing there, looking beautifully ethereal underneath the moonlit sky and starry night, the breeze gently brushing her hair as she smiled.

Surprised, I said, “What are you doing up here, Red?” I had always called her Red. Remembering her auburn red hair, I doubt she would have wanted it any other way.

“Just thought I’d say thanks. For everything. For tonight.”

“You don’t have to thank me but how’d you know I was here?”

Smirking, she nodded, “I know you, remember?” As she sat next to me, she continued, “And I DO have to thank you. I know how much you hate crowds.”

“It wasn’t that bad. It was fun, actually. Plus you were there. And that alone was worth it.” Just as I began to relive how happy she’d been that night, I heard her whistling “Here Comes the Sun.” When she finished, I sincerely said, “That was nice.” And it was. It really was. To which she replied, “Thank you.”

As I was lying there, I felt something placed on my chest. I opened my eyes, and saw the Abbey Road CD. Confused, I asked her what was going on, trying to figure out why she’d given me, in my opinion, the Beatles’ best album.

“You didn’t think I’d forget, did you?” I honestly didn’t know it at the time, but she knew exactly what day it was. It was my birthday, and no one had remembered. Not even I. Except her.

“Happy Birthday, boy.” Then, she slowly leaned towards me and closed her eyes as her lips pressed against mine.

It was the first time I had ever felt her soft, strawberry red lips. Although I was confused and surprised, I decided to not question everything, and let my fingers caress her delicate soft cheeks as our lips met for the first time since we had met. I distinctively remember her forehead resting against mine as she bit her lips while her thumb and index finger squished mines.

“How’s that for a birthday gift?” Being the pessimistic asshole that I am, that was the first time I asked myself why she was my friend. It’s obvious to me now that she really did feel something genuine towards me. But at the time, I thought I had realized she felt pity for me. I thought she wanted to make me feel better, to raise my self being. And in her desire to do so, I figured she did the things she did, said the things she said, and finally, kissed me the way she did.

Every time our lips came together, I wanted to appreciate it, to live it, to love her. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t stop thinking of the pity I so stupidly thought she felt. The image of my father, sitting on the couch, alone, in a drunk stupor, wouldn’t stop haunting my thoughts. Knowing me, she knew I had changed. At first, I could see she tried to ignore it. After two long years, I figured it was enough. In my confused way of thinking, I figured I’d give her a way out. We were in our senior year when she couldn’t take it anymore.

That day, before 6th period began, a part of me ended as she confronted me in front of my locker. She was waiting for me when I arrived. The moment I saw her watery eyes, I knew I had obliterated her happiness. A river of tears trailed uncontrollably down her soft cheeks, and I was to blame.

“What’s this?” She asked, her voice breaking as she unfolded a letter. It was a letter I had written to her, but hadn’t given it to her yet. She found it inside my jacket, which she was wearing. In it, I tried to explain how I didn’t deserve her. I tried to make her understand that she could find someone better than me. And finally, how I felt she only felt pity for me.

“You think I feel pity for you?” She asked, her voice trembling. “How can you possibly even think that? When have I-did I ever say that to you? Have I done anything to make you think otherwise?” While she continued asking all her questions, I simply stared at her, thinking to myself why she wouldn’t let me wipe her tears away, why she kept pushing my hand away.

“I fell for you, because of who you are.” My reply to her fact, is the perhaps most imbecile statement that’s ever come out of my mouth.

“And who the hell am I, Red? For god’s sake, look at me. I’m a fucking mess! Do you want to know who I am? I’m my father’s son. I’ll pull the trigger too, if I had the chance. That’s who I am. And nothing you say, or do will ever change that.”

I’m sorry I ever said those words. She nodded as she struggled to speak. “You’re not your father, even if you carry that weight for a long time. You’re not your father. I fell for you, because I love you.”

With those words, she handed me the letter, and walked away. If I close my eyes, I can see her walking away down the hall. I see her, hoping she’ll turn around, but she doesn’t. Then she gets lost in the crowd. I lost her.

Every time I hear “Carry that weight” or just about any Beatles’ song, Allison is the only person I think about. She’s gone. And the band plays on.

Carl Sagan, famed American astronomer, cosmologist and author, wrote a captivating and spellbinding book in 1994 titled Pale Blue Dot: A Vision of the Human Future in Space. The prevailing incentive to title his book Pale Blue Dot, derived from the hypnotic image of planet Earth taken in 1990 by Voyager 1. In it, Earth found itself entirely indistinguishable as it lay, resting against the immense vastness of space, graphed upon an endless canvas of darkness, represented only through a beam of light but, as Sagan commented, “it’s just an accident of geometry and optics.” The paltriness of which Earth reflects from this point, begs one to wonder and question the fervent mentality that underlies our decision making.

One of the most intriguing and to be honest, one of my favorite quotes in this book, is the following:

“From this vantage point, our obsession with nationalisms is nowhere in evidence. We are too small. On the scale of worlds, humans are inconsequential: a thin film of life on an obscure and solitary lump of rock and metal.”

Long before I read this and many other works of literature, before my eyes and mind were hastily exposed to the true nature of the human being, I came to terms with my surroundings. I realized there are certain aspects of civilization that cannot be altered, despite the growing cries and murmurs that make an attempt make a change for the better. Perhaps due to this often bitter atmosphere, this feeble social order void of any discernable justice on every corner of the globe, I gradually became more reserved: muted and unwilling to express my opinions. Like any being who finds oneself adrift on the roads of existence, I try to find solace in people. Perhaps, hoping to be proven wrong, realize it’s not mostly black and less white, but rather a light shade of eggshell white, tainted only here, and there.

Take Mr. Hugo Alfredo Tale-Yax’s actions for example. A crowning display of pure courage and to some extend, integrity, emerged from this man. Through and because of the shortcomings and underprivileged conditions of his home town, Mr. Tale-Yax ended up homeless on the streets of New York. Hoping to somehow find his chance at a better life, he fought day by day, struggling but ultimately, failed. Yet, his humility and sense of honor never left him.

A woman walking home at the beginning hours of dawn, was attacked from behind by an, as of yet, unknown assailant. Mr. Tale-Yax knew nothing about the so-called “bystander effect”. He saw the world quite different from the rest of us. Armed with nothing, he proceeded to do what nearly all of us would fail to even consider: he intervened and saved the woman from the knife-wielding assailant. Unfortunately for this innocent, yet brave soul, his time upon the soil of this earth ended unexpectedly as he was mortally wounded.

When events like this occur rarely in our lives, those are the moments I remind myself that maybe, just maybe, there is hope for humanity.

What happened next to Mr. Yale-Tax, unfortunately, pours down on me like a cold bucket of water, reminding me that such illusions for a better, more harmonic tomorrow are completely, unequivocally far away from us. In the state where John Lennon proclaimed his ideology of people standing as one, sharing the world, Mr. Tale-Yax fell on the cold pavement, bleeding and breathing his last breath of life as people, other human beings, with absolutely nothing that made them any better than Mr. Tale-Yax, simply passed by him, ignoring, choosing not intervene. One man even came to the point where he nonchalantly took out his cell phone, snapped a picture of the dying man, and walked away. Nearly 50 years after the infamous 1964 murder of Kitty Genovese, nothing has change. John Lennon was a dreamer.

I’ve been following, Mrs. Brewer, the recent movements in your state of Arizona to effectively execute SB1070. I understand that to you, Governor Brewer, I am no one. Which to some degree, is true. I hold no political position that grants me the privilege to speak to you. Quite frankly, I don’t have the stomach for the political world. I hold no award for greatest achievements, I am not renown in any field. I’m just me.

For the sake of this letter, say I was able to ask you a few questions. I’d start with a simple why?

I’d like an honest answer. Not a political. An honest one. Hispanics, which is what this law is targeting, seem to do the jobs no American wants. Say, Governor Brewer, you weren’t a governor. What if you hadn’t been privileged of having the education you had, the opportunities you were given, and the people you met that fundamentally helped you reached the place you now hold? What if you had nothing? Would you pick fruits? The same fruits you now have your maid pick up at the grocery store? Would you wash the Mercedes-Benzs, the BMWs, or any other car that would drive by a car wash? Would you submit yourself to cleaning car after car as the sun beamed down on you, sweat dripping down your forehead as you ache to rest but you couldn’t stop? Would you mop floors and clean toilets where men and women with higher positions sit down? Would you submit yourself to cleaning a floor, using chemicals with absolutely no protection, taking in the stomach-wrenching ammonia as you prepared to mop the floor? Would you flip burgers and dip fries into the oil for a living?

For minimum wage?

Would you wash dish after dish while men and women simply order outside the kitchen door, blinded to the fact you’ve been standing over that sink for hours resulting in your feet and calves burning, joints aching for rest of the day and night? Would you deliver the newspaper, 365 days a year, with no day off, carrying the Sunday, brick-like edition papers over your shoulders as you run door by door, delivering the paper so hours later, some person wakes up, serves themselves a cup of coffee and simply reads? Imagine that person sitting at their desk, reading while you ache to rest, having been up since midnight, preparing the paper to they could flip through the sections, but you can’t rest. Second job awaits you.

Would you do any of these jobs for six, seven, eight, nine, even ten dollars an hour?

No American, especially a Caucasian American would do it for that wage. At least not for a living. A teenager might, but then again, college awaits so it’s only for the summer. The fictional, “Immigrants are taking the jobs from Americans” statement doesn’t hold it’s ground. It never did.

What if you were Hispanic? What if you had an accent? What if you were driving a beat up old station wagon and you were pulled over? What if the first question the came out of that officer’s mouth was, “Are you illegal?”

How can one be illegal, by the way?

Have you ever asked yourself those questions, Governor Brewer? What if? Have you ever walked into a room and had all eyes on you, staring you down with such disdain simply because your skin was darker and your accent was still lingering? Yet, ache to have people get to know you before their judgments over you had already taken place?

Of course you haven’t. Being Hispanic is not a crime. Never was and shouldn’t be. Imagine you were Guatemalan or Honduran and you knew deep inside your mind and your heart that you needed to get to the freedom land that is the United States if you even had a chance to survive in this world. How would you get over here? What’s the right way, Governor Brewer?

With visas and permission and whatnot, correct?

Whenever I hear someone like Tancredo claim “these” illegal immigrants should have done it the right and proper way, I scoff somewhere inside of me.

First of all, you can’t get visas simply because you want to move here. You have to have some type of skill, something you can offer to this country. Wanting a better life, hoping to find a better job isn’t enough. If you were born somewhere else, underprivileged, with no proper education, simply wanting to work, then by all means you are profoundly embedded to that dreadful territory you’re agonizing to leave behind.

How did the United States get formed in the first place? If I remember correctly, a plethora of foreigners boarded ships and landed on East Coast, from what is now Ellis Island, all the way down the coast. That’s all you had to do. Board a ship. No skill to prove, nothing. Simply the desire to have a better life. Every single one of us descent from an immigrant. Except for the Native Americans, we don’t belong here. It wasn’t until the Chinese Exclusion Act that the United States started restricting who was allowed and who wasn’t. East Asians and Asian Indians were not even allowed in 1924 due to the Immigration Act of that same year. What amazes me is the fact that no one seems to remember that some of the law’s strongest supporters were influenced by a book titled The Passing of the Great Race, written by an eugenicist and strong advocate of the racial hygiene theory.

What makes us superior to anyone else, granting us such power to decide who can have a chance at something exceptional and more desirable, and who may not? In every sense of word, this law is ultimately designed to harass individuals of Hispanic descent. State Senator Russell Pearce himself said, and I quote, “When you make life difficult, most will leave on their own.”

Has he ever asked himself what if he was Hispanic? Of course not.

I completely doubt I will ever understand the fervent hatred and compelling and utter disdain some humans can have for one another. Why, Governor Brewer, didn’t you veto the bill? Why do you support men like Joe Arpaio? Is there no shred of humanity, humility and compassion somewhere deep inside your soul? It surprises me that you, Governor Brewer, being a religious being failed to stand against this proposition. You, of all people who claim to believe in God, should have raised your hand and question the validity of this bill, both under the name of God and the Constitution. Isn’t the following quote in the bible?

Ephesians 4:32 “Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you.”

I’m reminded how religious pundits came to this land when it was first discovered, with bibles under their arms, claiming Native Americans needed to be civilized, burning towns and parading the heads of the fallen ones. All in the name of the powerful, celestial being. It is evident we, as humans cannot abstain ourselves from committing such atrocious acts against one another.

Maybe you do have some compassion, Governor Brewer, and I’m simply failing to see it. But it seems your political ambitions are far stronger than any sense of morality you might possess. Your support for this bill is, at the end of the day, a political move to reassure your governmental position until 2015. Your desire to hold office doesn’t succumb to the realization that your state law is quite frankly, too much alike to the racial profiling we had under the Jim Crow Laws, Japanese-American internment camps and all the other acts we have imposed on one another.

Instead of having US companies that are based in Latin and South America pay descent wages so that their workers have no NEED to leave, we harass them when they are here “illegally” but only after they have picked up our fruits, washed our cars, clean our dishes, mowed our lawns and clean our toilets.

Somewhere down the line, as I was growing up, I began to question things. Simple things. Things like if God really did create heaven and Earth, why did he create all the other planets? Was Mars some other projects of his? Did he give up on Pluto, leaving us wondering whether it’s a planet or not? One particular question that pressed some non-existing buttons was the following: If people really do take the bible and interpret it as a verbatim account of what really happened, especially the book of Genesis, then how do you explain the dinosaurs?

Before I continue, I must say when it comes to religion, I do my best to stay away from it. Like politics, religion is a double-edge sword. If you agree with someone politically, you’ve created an ally. But if you disagree, then all bets are off. If I just claimed that I do my best to stay away from religion, why did I start this post with a religion standoff? The answer is simple. Religion is the sole foundation behind Proposition 8 that’s on the ballot with this year’s election.

Let’s get one thing straight. Those of us who oppose this proposition, are not automatically gay. I like the Beatles’ music, but does that mean I encourage the use of drugs, such as LSD? Of course not. Those of us who oppose this proposition simply believe it’s another way to discriminate individuals.

I was recently banned from a forum, (the name of the forum is irrelevant,) in which Prop. 8 came into debate. Some of the comments and replies on there are the reason for why this post came to be written. This proposition has no connection with same-sex marriage being taught at school as “being normal.” So why are these pundits behind this proposition stating facts that are incorrect? If you ask any of them, their first reason as to why they oppose same-sex marriage is the same, old excuse you hear all over the place. According to them, the bible “states” that marriage is solely between a man and a woman.

Could be, but not everyone lives with the bible dictating their every belief, which gives them no right to try and feed us their beliefs. If you believe marriage is a “sacred” union between man and woman, then so be it. But let the others make up their own mind.

Which brings me to another point. If marriage is “sacred,” as some conveniently put it, why is there a rise in divorce rate? Why are there individuals who marry two, three, four or even more times in their lifetime? If that’s sacred, then…..

Prop. 8, won’t pass. Even if it does, sooner or later, the courts will decide it’s unconstitutional. At some point in our history, interracial marriage was against the law. Eventually, enough of our voices were heard and the world, or most of it, was able to overcome that obstacle and continue our path to a more perfect harmony.

I’ve always believed people can choose what or what not to believe in. Every one has a mind of their own, and it’s our job to question things and come up with our own conclusion. When we do and they happen to contradict the rest of the general public’s, we expect our views and believes to be respected.

I’m pretty sure John McCain was tossing and turning in his bed last night, unable to sleep. Echoes of “Arab,” “Terrorist,” and the infamous line, “Off with his head,” ran across his mind. I sincerely hope he was sitting on the edge of his bed, his eyes gazing at the floor, thinking to himself, “This isn’t what I wanted. I want to win, but not like this.”

It’s not news when we hear the McCain-Palin ticket falling further and further behind from the leading Obama-Biden ticket. What’s concerning though, is that the Republican rallies are getting angrier and raw, with infuriating citizens who simply can’t grasp the fact that their candidate is trailing and most likely, will loose the race. Although the price is ultimately the White House with the responsibility to turn the United States’ image around, calm the economic downturn, and improve on their foreign policies, why are these rough and raw crowds showing signs of hatred, bigotry, and in some cases, a repulsive image of United States citizens who seem to be nothing more than out-of-control hooligans?

Uninformed. These crowds don’t have time, or won’t make the time to read and inform themselves. That does not mean to read or listen to one specific source, and decided that’s the truth. To be informed means to listen to all points of views, and decide for yourself base on the fact. On a recent rally in Waukesha, Wisconsin a woman told McCain, “I don’t trust Obama. I’ve read about him. He’s an Arab.”

Obama? An Arab? Who can possibly state such a baseless and simply stupid comment? Rush Limbaugh of all people. Listen carefully. Rush Limbaugh, the idiot who mocked Michael J. Fox not too long ago. The moron who should be taken off the air, along with all his mindless listeners.

Obama is NOT an Arab. He’s a United States Citizen. John McCain did the right and honorable thing in telling the woman, “No, ma’am. He’s a decent, family man, a citizen that I just happen to have disagreements with on fundamental issues and that’s what this campaign is all about.”

If that’s what his campaign is really about, then why is Sarah Palin feeding these starved crowds with lies, rumors and deception which send them screaming their desire to see John McCain “kill him.”?

The race is getting uglier. There’s no denying that. But it doesn’t have to be this way. I hope that on early morning hours of November 5, 2008, when John McCain gives his speech, admitting he’s lost, he says the following.

“My dear friends. I cannot begin to say how deeply sadden I am. I wanted the chance to change the course of the United States’ image, the country that I love so much. But I’m standing here, realizing I can still help that cause. I can still help steer the way in which we as American are heading. I’m standing here not to admit my defeat, but to tell all my fellow citizens, all members of this great nation who are willing to listen. Enough with the partisan mentality. Enough of our hunger for see the other political party fail. Enough. I’m standing here to gather all our citizens and tell them that we have to support our next President of the United States. Barack Obama.”

And as he turns around, and begins to walk away from the stage, McCain will be joined by his wife as he asks himself, “Why did I lose?”

That’s an easy one, Senator McCain. You lost because of Palin, Karl Rove’s tactics, and your campaign manager Rick Davis. You lost because near the end, instead of focusing on the issues, you let your whole campaign run amok, trying to taint your opponent’s image. You lost because your campaign was un-American.

I like the sound of that. I would have loved to be one, actually. A lawyer who works on behalf of the little people. I’d be their superman. And some day, one night, an incredible thing might happen.

A family of four sits at the table, dining, with their two children enjoying their delicious plate of spaghetti and meatballs. The father looks up across the table, and meets his wife’s eyes. And they smile at what they have. Out of nowhere, he hears something. He picks up his napkin, gently wipes his mouth, stands up, and walks to the window behind him. From outside, you can see his fingers slowly pulling the curtains as his face comes to view and finds what he’s looking for.

His wife and his two kids wait for his response.

“It’s him.”

That simplistic line prompts all four them to walk hurriedly to the front door. The father places his hands on the doorknob, turns it, opens it, and sees how his family are not the only ones heading towards the front door. Houses across and down the streets already have their owners and occupants standing before the front door, their eyes all gazing towards the same end.

Underneath the moonlight, walking down the middle of the lonely street, I walk. Everybody can hear the sound my shoes make as they slap against the cold, hard pavement. Briefcase in hand, tie undone, hair out place, my eyes never move away from my goal: the end of the road.

I walk, tired, battered, and alone after a loooong, hard day.

And then they start applauding. One by one, every individual that lay their eyes on me applaud giving me an ovation because I can stand up, and fight those men of evil sitting behind their desk over at those Insurance Companies. I fight men like Bush or Karl Rove, who have rewritten the constitution and slowly begin to tear apart this country that so many fought for over 225 years.

I fight those who lay on their yacht over the Caribbean Islands, smiling in triumph as bulldozers begin to tear forest and destroy natural habitat, propelling creatures unto that long list of endangered species. I fight men who unscrupulously take advantage of the lower class, blue-collar workers who work for pennies simply because pennies are worth much more than nothing at all.

That’d be a heck of an ovation, don’t you think? I can see Gregory Peck walking down that street as Atticus Finch. Why can’t anyone be like him nowadays?

Just a few months ago, no one, except Alaskans and those in tuned with the Alaskan political circle, knew who on earth Sarah Palin was. Had Hillary Clinton won the Democratic Presidential Nomination, the name Sarah Palin would still be exactly that. Just a name. But Clinton did not win the nomination. And it’s because of this event that we as Americans now have to endure the possibility that this “Jane Doe” might be, unfortunately, the leader of the free world.

But who exactly is Sarah Palin? It’s not that difficult to figure that out, actually. Research. It’s what the internet is for.

Anne Kilkenny, a resident of Wasilla, Alaska, wrote a letter about how she viewed Sarah Palin. First of all, why is Anne Kilkenny’s view and opinion of Palin so important? Well, she knows her personally and what Anne Kilkenny has to say would most definitely open the eyes and minds those willing to listen.

Although mayor of a city with a dismal population of 5,000 for six years, most of the work of actually running the city was turned over to an administrator. Just 5 other states have a population of under 1 million. Palin was forced to hire an administrator after she had started firing high ranking officials simply because they did not fully support her. She even tried to ban books from the city’s library, but ended up backing away from her initial goal after residents began protesting. Upon the end of her second term as Mayor of Wasilla, Palin had raised the city’s debt from just about $1 million up to $25 million. Her administration then defended the spending increase as being caused by the rise in population in Wasilla, which is vaguely true. The city’s population did in fact rose, but only by about a thousand residents.

Much can be said about Palin’s political affiliation, views, and decisions as any political figure, including Barack Obama. After all, they’re politicians who have to walk the thin line between liberals and hardcore conservatives. It’s their way in which they answer a simple question that determines what kind of individuals they are, what goes through their minds, and what ideas and plans they have for the future of this country.

Which is why Katie Couric’s interview with the governor proves critical of who she really is. Palin confirmed what millions of Americans already knew: she’s not well experienced, she has no basic knowledge of American history, has no clear view on foreign policy, can’t complete a proper sentence much more than our current President can, is clearly a puppet controlled by the Republican party, and was chosen on the mere fact of her gender.

To have John McCain think that women would cast their votes in his favor only because he has a female as a running mate is an insult to both Hillary Clinton, and to every woman in this country getting ready to vote on November 4. To make matters worse, McCain will in fact get more votes from the core of the republican base which include Christians and women. All because he has Palin by his side.

All prospect voters, should consider every aspect of all candidates before casting their votes. It’s unfortunate that even men of all ages will vote for Palin simply because they find her a “hot babe”. Just take a look at the debate between her and Biden. Who was the one who had intellectual answers and who was the one who tiptoed around them? Who was the one who showed that desire to help their political partner change the image of the U.S., and who was the one who kept blinking towards the camera, sending every man watching the debate running towards the bathroom with a white towel? Who was the one who kept calling herself and her candidate “mavericks”, and at the same time, questioning the morality of her opponent without answering questions about her own image? To say Sarah Palin won the debate against Joe Biden on the mere reason she didn’t made a fool out of herself, is like saying the Joker won the battle because Batman didn’t show up. (And no, I’m not calling Joe or Barack, Batman. Or Palin the Joker, for that matter.)

The Republican campaign, clearly out of ideas, have started a smear campaign against Obama. I do hope voters are smart enough and don’t fall for the GOP’s tactics and keep the rest of the Presidential race on issues and facts, rather than rumors and “personality”.

John McCain and Sarah Palin cannot blink and lie their way towards the White House. We cannot have two individuals who have their minds set on continuing what George Bush has done for the past 8 years, ultimately decimating the power that the U.S. once had. Talks of the war on terror taking a turn for the better, the surge working, or about John McCain’s imprisonment has got to stop.

Despite computers slowly becoming an essential tool in today’s world, it’s been a while since I last sat in front of the screen, and surfed the net for my personal leisure. I distinctly remember when I was in my teens, I’d spend hours online, jumping from page to page, reading news, trivia, and history even. There was a reason why it was called “surfing the web.”

A couple of months ago, I finally succumbed to peer pressure, and registered a Facebook account. Once signed in, I quickly found a few of my high school buddies, which wasn’t hard at all since I knew their names. At first, I didn’t think much since I wasn’t finding out anything relatively new. We’ve kept in touch since high school, so there really wasn’t a major point to using Facebook. Besides, that’s what emails are for; to keep in touch.

But then I started thinking, wondering really. “What happened to the students I knew back in middle school?” For most people, middle school isn’t really that different from high school because most of the guys and girls you knew there, eventually moved to high school with you. But with me, it was different.

I went to three different middle schools. Back then, in the late 1990’s, there were still a few elementary schools that still had 6th grade. In fact, I was one of the lucky ones to be a part of the very last 6th grade class of my grade school. Next, I was sent to the Ralph Waldo Emerson Middle School. It was this particular school that I was interested in since I only went there for my 7th grade school year.

Of course, Facebook doesn’t have an option to search friends from middle school. So I had to do a little research. I was able to find out that 8th graders that left Emerson, were able to go to three different high school: University High School, Hamilton High School, or Venice High.

With just a few names I remembered from back then, I started my search to bring back a little bit of that lost past. To my surprise, the names didn’t get me anywhere. I was almost done going through the class of 2004 (the year we all graduated), when I came across this profile. Could it be? I couldn’t remember his name, but his face was oh so familiar. Holy !@#$!

It was this dude I had P.E. with! I started reminiscing of the all the mornings we used to play basketball before school, during nutrition, and lunch. I remember being, along with this guy, the king of the courts, even if it was for just a little while. I remember during P.E., him and I were the top runners. No one could beat us during that 4th period P.E. class.

I finally have a chance to reminisce the old days, through him, and hopefully he’ll know where I can get in touch with the other members of that glorified court. Now, if only I could remember the name of that radiant piano player in my orchestra class. Jennifer something…

Almost every single pre-teen synced with Nickelodeon was shocked, not to mention the adults, when they read and heard the news: JAMIE LYNN SPEARS. 16, ACTRESS & AND SOON-TO-BE MOM.

Seeing her older, and much more publicized sister being scrutinized by the media, one would have safely assumed Jamie would have done things a bit smarter, maybe rise above the expectations. Unfortunately, that was not the case.

Nine months later, OK! Magazine ran their best selling issue since 2005, with Jamie Spears right on the cover along with her new born. What does that image really mean, though? In my perspective, the media is simply glorifyingteen pregnancy. Granted, it’s not entirely Spears’ fault, but the truth of the matter is she did in fact received a hefty amount for the rights of those pictures. The end result? Teens all over the country, and across the world even, will rush towards that pedestal in which kids (that’s what pre-teens are), have kids. Babies having babies.

Not only are these teenagers cutting short their chances of succeeding, of becoming someone in this life and accomplishing beyond what individuals of past generation could ever hope for, but they are also contributing to a growing problem that affects the whole world.

Mass Population.

We’re already seeing the effects in countries such as China. The issue of forced abortion is a hot potato that nobody wants to hold. Africa is slowly rising to the same dilemma. Mass population is one of the reasons they can’t control malaria. Although, Bill Gates is working on it.

Central American countries such as El Salvador can’t seem to house all of their people, so they let them venture out to other countries. The U.S. too, seems to be slowly showing the symptoms of mass population. Henry Kissinger and other individuals had different ideas to solve the population crisis. Forced abortion. Genocides. Depopulation through food. These are all crimes against humanity. I’m against it. But there is another solution. A smarter solution.

Protection. And if you really want to have a child and help the population crisis? Adoption. Think about it. Adoption.